


Happenstance

by Saber_Wing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Blood, Knives, Let's face it whumptober is all about hurting Noct, Sort of? - Freeform, Status Effects, Whump, Whumptober 2018, poisoned, stabbed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: If Noctis was the prince of anything, it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.Whumptober - Days 1 & 5: Stabbed and Poisoned.





	Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is early for the poisoned prompt, late for stabbed, but I have no self-control. Also, I do what I want. I won't have time to do all of these by any means, but whump is fun, so I'll probably just cherry pick throughout the month. You're welcome :D

If Noctis was the prince of anything, it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Noctis gasped as a flash of metal careened toward him through the open courtyard breezeway, embedding itself in his side before he could warp out of the way. A sharp pain lodged itself between his ribs, and he looked down, groaning to see a thin piece of metal – a throwing knife, if he was any judge – jutting out of his side.

Oh, come  _on._ Really?

Noctis clutched at the wound, careful not to dislodge the knife so inconveniently thrust between his ribs. A muffled curse issued from the center of the courtyard. One of the crownsguard – relatively new, if the practically mint-condition uniform was any indication - tripped over himself to get to Noct, stammering apologies.

"I am  _so_  sorry. I didn't think anyone was here. Nobody ever comes back here!"

Noctis stumbled backward, leaning up against the wall. "You know this is a public courtyard, right?"

The crownsguard – a fresh faced young man with brown hair and freckles – paled further as he approached. Apparently, the guy hadn't been able to see his face from farther back. Now his accidental treason was plain to see—in the form of a very disgruntled, very bloodied Prince Noctis.

"Your  _Highness?_ " The poor guy's voice cracked so pathetically, Noctis actually felt sorry for him. "Oh, no. Oh, Astrals, I'm too young to be executed..."

Noct slid down the wall, blood gushing between his fingers. The blade ground against bone, and he nearly screamed. Instead he gritted his teeth, pushing back the darkness creeping around his vision. "Look man, calm down, just...what's your name?"

"T-Tristan, sire."

"Well, Tristan, I'm gonna need you to chill and call for help, because if I bleed to death, you probably  _will_ be executed." Never mind the fact that the death penalty in Lucis wasn't really a thing. A hot wave of nausea swept over him—too powerful to resist—and Noctis turned his head just in time to vomit all over the floor. It was tinged a worrying shade of red.

When his churning stomach finally settled enough, Noctis wiped his mouth on his sleeve, panting. He eyed the wound, peeling back layers of fabric carefully to take a better look. The weapon itself was just a throwing knife – blade barely wider than an inch, and yet, the strength seemed to be leeching from Noct's body by the second.

The prince knew he was losing blood, but that shouldn't be enough to warrant the disquieting lethargy seeping into his bones. Or, the acrid, bitter taste at the back of his throat. Noctis felt positively  _green_ with illness.

Tristan was fumbling with his cell phone, searching his pockets frantically. "Oh, shit! Fuck! I don't even have an antidote! Gods, I thought I had one! Where is it?"

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Noct's stomach; one that had nothing to do with the blade in his side. "Why do I need an antidote?"

Tristan paled a few shades further. "Uh. I, um..."

Noctis lunged forward, moaning when the movement shifted the knife in his side. He grabbed a fistful of the crownsguard's uniform shirt, hissing his response. " _Tristan._ Antidote. Why?"

"...I-I coated my weapon with contact poison?"

Of  _course_ he had. Noctis groaned, struggling to breathe through the waves of dizziness assaulting his senses, pounding through him like a battering ram. " _Why_ would you do that?"

"The captain said my marksmanship blows, so I wanted to practice my throwing! The others always rag on me when I do it at the training grounds, so I usually come back here. A-And I heard this poison is supposed to be effective even against MTs, so..."

The prince drew his knees up, resting his forehead against them. "Are there any  _fucking_  MTs here?" Noctis meant to scream his response, but even words seemed to be failing him. They came out quiet, barely more than a wisp of sound.

Noctis was scared. He'd never been poisoned before. His side was on fire, bone and sinew grinding against the knife with every movement, but everything else felt strangely out of focus, like he was floating. He struggled to keep a grip on the wound, feeling impossibly weak, and getting weaker by the second.

Tristan was visibly trembling, holding the phone to his ear. At this point, Noctis was convinced he would actually be dead before the medics got here. All the same, he focused on breathing and trying very hard not to pass out—or throw up on his shoes.

Noctis didn't even notice anyone else had arrived on the scene until a hand was gripping his shoulder. Another hand pressed down on his wound, attempting to stem the blood flow.

Noctis forced his eyelids to cooperate long enough to see Nyx Ulric's blurry face, hovering over him.

" _Oh,_ thank God. Nyx, you're...competent, right?"

Noctis could hear the amusement in Nyx's response, even if it was tinged with worry. "Competent, that's me. Hero, remember? What happened?"

"Target practice."

"...okay, now I have  _more_ questions."

Noctis had just enough energy for a weak chuckle, and another strangled groan.

"Shh, that's all right. We'll get you sorted, kiddo. Don't worry about a thing." Nyx settled him back against the wall, barking orders into his earpiece. Noctis squeezed his eyes shut, white-hot jolts of pain lancing his side. He could still hear Tristan, stammering in the background.

Assuming he survived all this, Noctis should help the poor guy. Tossing a poisoned throwing knife at the prince was treason of the highest order, accident or not. And contrary to popular belief, being  _stupid_  shouldn't actually be enough to seal anyone's coffin. Just didn't seem fair. Tristan hadn't meant any harm, even if throwing poisoned weapons in a public area  _was_ the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.

Nyx was talking to Noctis, in a voice edged with tension. Trying to keep him awake, probably. The prince opened his mouth—to mutter some reassurance probably—but ended up puking all over him instead. Nyx rubbed his back sympathetically though, so he probably wasn't too mad about it.

A few minutes passed. Noct drifted some more. Nyx was still talking though, and the glaive's tone sounded hurried now. Just panicked enough for Noctis to decide that the situation was  _very not okay_ , and he finally managed to battle his way through the haze.

"-awake. Noct!"

Noctis blinked, struggling to speak through the sludge in his mouth. Nyx's hand was pressed over Noct's, holding it in place over the wound, which was fortunate, really. Noctis didn't think he could hold his arm up by himself. The world was fading in and out of focus, and the strength was leeching out of him fast.

"Nyx. Poison. 'm poison..."

"I know, I know. Help is coming. Stay with me, all right?"

Noctis felt  _awful._ The prince struggled to control his breathing; to remind himself that most of this would pass, when they found him an antidote.

It  _would_ pass, right? If it didn't, Noct wasn't sure what he would do. He whimpered, shivering as another vicious wave of dizziness left him reeling. The world tilted on its side, and Noctis wished it would stop.

Nyx held him tighter. "You've survived worse than this, Noct. Don't give up now."

Something about the glaive's voice: it filled Noct with determination. He swallowed back a groan as he shifted, slumping into Nyx as much as he dared.

The wound in his side still hurt like a bitch. Probably a good sign – Cor always said it was when things _stopped_  hurting that he should worry. Besides, Nyx was right. Noctis hadn't made it past the snake woman with swords for arms just to be taken down by one idiot with a projectile piece of metal.

"You're right. I c-can't die. Iggy will run out of things to do. Gladio will level the city. Prompto will pass me up in King's Knight. Dad will  _cry."_ Something else occurred to Noct, and he paused, nodding decisively. "The world might  _drown_ in an endless expanse of darkness. _"_

Nyx chuckled. "Can't have that."

By some miracle of the Astrals, Noctis did manage to stay awake, all the way up until an army of medics spilled into the breezeway. Some wonderful, beautiful soul helped him drink a vial of liquid as they loaded him onto a stretcher. The nausea receded at long last, and the world stopped spinning so much. He still felt dizzy, but Noct figured that could mostly be attributed to blood loss, instead of  _fucking_ contact poison. Because apparently, he couldn't even go for a walk without it turning into an international incident.

He wasn't sure when Regis and Clarus arrived on the scene, but suddenly, Noctis found himself blinking up at them as they kept pace with the stretcher. His father took his hand, a soft smile twisting up the corners of his lips, despite the worry in his eyes. "We have to stop meeting like this, son."

Noctis laughed so hard, he nearly dislodged the knife.

There was something else he should say. Something important.

"Dad?" Noctis weakly waved a hand vaguely in the direction they'd just left. "That's Tristan. He's stupid."

Regis blinked owlishly. There was something amused in his expression. "Really?"

"Yeah. B-But he didn't mean to. Maybe...don't execute him."

Clarus snorted from beside his father. Regis huffed a laugh before stifling it, fixing his expression into something more sober.

"I'll take that under advisement."


End file.
